


The Best Possible Use of Free Will

by roominthecastle



Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, post episode: s03e08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 14:39:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16683508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roominthecastle/pseuds/roominthecastle
Summary: Last time she checked, dying for someone was kind of a big deal.





	The Best Possible Use of Free Will

There was a gentle knock on the connecting door but it went unanswered.

She kept sitting quietly on the edge of the bed, staring at the glowing blues of the plugs, still somewhat lost in a memory. A memory of her future in a past afterlife. It was disorienting yet oddly comforting at the same time. She didn't hear him come in but suddenly he was there. She felt his warmth tower over her in the coolness of the room and she heard him sigh the softest sigh. These were the perks rural Canada offered her: constant goosebumps, deafening silence, and a friendly demon by her side.

She figured he knew exactly what she was doing. She also knew that he disapproved. She didn't care. She had the right to know.

"What were you looking for in there?" he asked.

Her fingers closed around the plugs, hiding them in fists. "You." 

She didn't offer up more details and he remained quiet for a while. "I am here," he said at last. 

"Yeah." It was a reflexive confirmation. "Why, though?" she asked, looking up for the first time since he let himself in. The shadows lent a slightly grotesque quality to his sharp features. The yellows of lamplight reflected in his glasses didn't ease his otherworldly appearance, either. But she felt calm, almost sleepy even. "Why are you here, Michael?"

There was a hint of a lazy grin on his face, their most recent clash over the question of free will no doubt still on his mind. "Because I choose to be."

"It's a choice, huh? Simple."

"Yes."

"Like with the trolley problem."

His easy amusement vanished, leaving only sharp, unnatural stillness behind. Heat was radiating off him in palpable waves now. He'd never felt less human yet somehow she still felt safe. He reached out his hand, palm up. She half-expected to see claws but when she looked, it was still a human hand and trembling slightly. "I need those back," he said. Her fingers only tightened around the plugs. "Please."

"Why didn't you show me this? Any of it?"

"What?"

"Us."

His arm fell back to his side. He worked his jaw silently, chewing a bit on a mouthful of words before he finally squeezed a few out: "Your ability to love was our focus... not mine." His confession surprised both of them but he was quick to backpedal. He reached out his hand again, his long (still clawless) fingers wiggling with nervous, almost childlike impatience. "Now give those back."

She defiantly pulled her hands behind her back. Being childish was a game two could play and often they did. "No." 

He drew closer but she did not shrink away. He moved without a sound and he had no scent whatsoever. There was only dry heat and lots of it. It felt like she was staring down a hot plate. A very tall and impatient hot plate.

"Eleanor..." he growled.

If there was even a time when this posturing could remotely frighten her, it was long gone. She rose to her feet, forcing him to straighten and take a step back. "They are my memories."

A cold smile bared his teeth. "That one isn't yours." Then the smile vanished and was replaced by worry. He seemed to cycle through emotions rapidly when he was anxious, trying them on to see which one was the best fit for the occasion but never quite finding the right one. "It can't be because it--"

"Didn't happen in the neighborhood?" she finished his sentence and seeing his genuine surprise, she felt it was her turn to smile. "Janet told me about that one, I didn't watch it." She threw the plugs on the bed. "But I did watch us do homework together for Chidi's class. I watched us dance and binge crappy tv and... have fucking strolls along the beach, dude." The anger left him at once and what took its place made her smugness vanish, too. "It all makes sense now."

"Yes. You hate the beach, that's why I brought you there."

"No, I asked you to bring me there after I saw the sea monster on your map."

"There was no monster there."

"No, there wasn't," she agreed. "And we were holding hands."

"Because you are so ridiculously small and kept getting stuck in the sand. It drove me nuts."

"You didn't let go until we got to my doorstep."

"No. You didn't let go. I let you hold on."

"Were you such a softie with all your torture subjects?"

She moved closer and he immediately moved back to maintain their distance. He pointed a finger at her. "You are wallowing and it's dangerous." 

He tried to reach for the control panel but she was quicker, snatched it up, and held it just out of his reach. "I'm inaugurated, so it's safe. You said so yourself."

A smile tugged at his mouth and it irrevocably undermined any further attempt to be intimidating. "Inoculated," he corrected her. It was one last feeble grasp for control.

She swatted it away with ease and threw the device on the bed behind her. "Whatever, smartass. Don't try to change the subject." 

They kept staring at each other for a long moment, then he let his towering frame sag with a defeated sigh.

"Why did you wanna hide this from me?"

He clenched his jaw and looked at his shoes. "It doesn't matter."

She felt too incredulous to be angry. "'It doesn't matter'?! Last time I checked, dying for someone was kind of a big deal, dude. Especially after going all 50 First Dates on them."

He glanced up. "I don't know what that means." Then he had the audacity to shrug. "And I didn't die."

"You thought you would, so it counts."

He opened his mouth, then closed it when he realized there was no point in trying to deny what she already knew. "What do you want from me, Eleanor?"

"Tell me." Confused apprehension washed over his face. "Just... say it, man." She stepped closer, her head tilted sharply up to maintain eye contact. "If you still feel it," she said, then lowered her voice to a whisper, "say it." 

It was a dare. It was a plea. It was the softest, craftiest command. "What difference would that make?"

"Just d--"

"I love you."

There was no smirking, no teasing or gloating of any kind but he was still trying to escape the moment like an animal would a trap that had already slammed shut. "Do you want it in writing, too?" 

Her arms slid around him and she pulled him into a hug. They stood like that, frozen in the middle of the cool semi-darkness until her voice, now muffled by his tie, interrupted the silence. "You are not breathing, man, and it's starting to freak me out."

Something unwound in him then. She felt his chest rise and fall... ... rise... and fall again. His heartbeat resumed, slightly chaotic at first but soon evening out. His arms moved, too, and gently wrapped around her small frame. She turned her head, burrowing her face into his shirt and breathing him in. Still no scent, only pleasant warmth and lots of it. He rested his chin on the crown of her head and took a deep breath. It felt like he was mimicking her, crossing a boundary only after she showed the way. 

"I love you," he whispered into her hair.

And it made all the difference in the universe.


End file.
